


P.R.N.

by heliocharis



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Banter, F/M, light medical per the tweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27812107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heliocharis/pseuds/heliocharis
Summary: Palamedes Sextus has to reschedule the exam.(Cribbed from that tweet that went around a while ago, you know the one.)
Relationships: Camilla Hect/Palamedes Sextus
Comments: 9
Kudos: 64





	P.R.N.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [necromanticatheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/necromanticatheart/gifts).



> A birthday present for a dear friend, and written to appeal to approximately 3 people.
> 
> [Here’s the tweet](https://twitter.com/decentbirthday/status/1315690962438492160).
> 
> The title is for _pro re nata_ , ‘as the circumstance arises’ (used in medicine to mean ‘as needed’, like with a reliever inhaler for asthma).

“Unfortunately,” said Palamedes Sextus, “I have to reschedule the exam.”

He paused, and took a sip of the worst coffee ever made by human or other means. It seemed to strengthen him.

“Good start,” said Camilla.

Palamedes cleared his throat, and continued to read from the email he claimed to have just typed out. “I will also have to cancel class on Thursday. Against my best wishes, I have been shot and am being treated in the ER. Office hours remain the same and will be held by your tutors.”

“Reasonable.”

“If I am alive, the exam will be held on Monday of next week.”

Camilla tapped her fingers on her chair. “Why give them any hope?”

“Edit,” Palamedes said, typing performatively. “I am also undergoing an acrimonious divorce.”

“They’ll start thinking it was me who shot you,” said Camilla. She reached over and took Palamedes’ cellphone, careful not to disturb the IV line attached to the back of his skinny hand.

“Nonsense. You would have hit what you were aiming for.”

Camilla read the draft. Palamedes had written what he said he’d written, which wasn’t bad considering the opiates had slowed his brain to about three-quarters of its usual speed.

“Laying it on a little thick, maybe,” Camilla said.

“I’ve been shot, Camilla,” said Palamedes, lifting his cardboard cup of fermented battery acid to his lips. It had come from the machine in the foyer, and owing to Palamedes’ appalling taste he was drinking it willingly. “I’m allowed a little fun.”

For the record, he was fine. The wound to his shoulder, which he had earned in the course of nothing more sinister than being in the way of a truly extraordinary misfire, would only require a few stitches and wasn’t too close to anything dangerous, even if he wouldn’t be able to move it much for a while. Camilla’s prediction was that he would be milking it for at least thirty years, and he had the X-rays to prove it.

Camilla handed the phone back. “The subject line does say ‘Exam pistons’.”

Palamedes cursed. “Well, Cam, there’s your entertainment. If you’re lucky they’ll let me keep…” He trailed off, unable to actually type and speak at the same time.

“Keep what?” Camilla said.

“IV.”

“N O.”

Palamedes sniffed, sitting back in his nest of hospital blankets. “Those students had better appreciate the effort I go to for them. It might have been easier to let them think I was dead.”

“Then they’ll be in the fourth floor reading room holding a séance to get their essay grades back,” Camilla said, “and they will absolutely burn it down.”

“I was very specific in my will about leaving any and all paperwork to you.”

“You might need it yet,” said Camilla. “By the way, I called the Professor.”

This genre of information was normally poorly received. Instead, Palamedes said, “Thank God. She might give me a smoke.”

“They don’t let you smoke in here.”

“Thank you, Camilla.”

“Any time.”

“They said we can leave after I get the stitches,” Palamedes said, pushing up his glasses. “It might not be that long.”

Camilla decided not to mention the prescriptions they’d have to wait for. She reached out and touched Palamedes’ hand with the side of her little finger.

They were in this flagrant and compromising position when Professor Juno Zeta (PhD, etc.) walked up, holding a takeaway coffee cup and looking like she was enjoying herself.

“You wouldn’t believe the rumours that are going around already,” she said. “Half the department thinks you got your head shot off and the other half’s convinced you’ve got appendicitis.” She handed the cup to Camilla: double shot, no sugar.

“Thanks, Juno, I owe you one,” Camilla said. She saw the look Palamedes was giving her. “ _You_ refused real coffee when I offered to get some, so if you die from drinking that, it’s your fault.”

Zeta was waving her hand. “No thanks required. Nothing this exciting has happened since what’s-his-name, that insufferable philosopher, sliced his hand up on a rusty nail from one of the seats out the back of the quad. Said he almost got tetanus and botulism and three different types of gangrene. Personally I think they gave him enough antibiotics his own cells should’ve got the hint. Anyway, Palamedes, I told them you were bleeding from at least one artery, and you should have been quicker formatting that article because the others will do a really awful job of it.”

Palamedes said, “Yes, Juno, I am fine, thank you.”

“Here,” Juno said. “I have something for you too.” She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a cardboard packet. Camilla had the unmatchable privilege of watching Palamedes’ face light up in a moment of glittering hope, then fall all the way back down as he registered that it was a packet of candy cigarettes.

Camilla sipped her coffee. Zeta held out the packet.

Palamedes grabbed it from her hand. “I’m not sharing these,” he said. He took one out and sullenly bit off the end.

“I can bring you something else when you’re home tomorrow, if you like,” Zeta said. “Maybe a fruit basket. Or a box of petits fours or a little plant in a pot. Is that traditional enough? I have to say I don’t often visit people who’ve been shot. How long are they keeping you here for?”

“The doctor has to come back and do the stitches. And, before you ask, no, I don’t know when that will be.” Palamedes moved his feet a bit to the side so Juno could sit on the end of the bed.

“You poor soul, you’ll be here till tomorrow morning. You couldn’t pay me. And I meant what I said about the article, the submission guidelines are going to get changed any day and then you’ll have to muck around with your cell margins for the next calendar year. The templates’ll have new paragraph spacing in the headers and everybody will lose their minds.”

The progression of this conversation distracted Palamedes from his complaints, at least until Juno produced a real cigarette for the purposes of gesturing with and the whole thing was at risk of becoming a performance of _The Libation Bearers_.

“They don’t let you smoke in here,” Palamedes said.

“Thank you, Palamedes.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Look,” Juno said, and laid a hand on Palamedes’ shin. “You do seem alright, more or less. Is it very terrible?”

Palamedes shrugged his uninjured shoulder. “I should survive.”

“Oh, good. People won’t have to act all weird around me and Camilla then. Unless I exaggerate for sympathy, and then maybe they’ll give me the day off.”

“Far be it from me to stop you from using my misfortune for personal gain,” Palamedes said.

Juno regarded him with something that almost looked like fondness, but maybe it was just the lights. She said, “Excellent. Well, I’m going to leave you to be doctored. I think the fewer people hanging around this ghastly place the better.” She stood up and leaned over Palamedes to kiss his temple, a gesture so like Palamedes’ own that Camilla was perilously close to having a feeling about it. Juno very unsubtly slipped something into Palamedes’ hand, then stepped back and quickly squeezed Camilla’s shoulder. “Do call me if you need anything,” she said, “I suppose it’s what I’m here for. Imagine I have also left you a ‘Get well soon’ card and some flowers with the anthers taken off.”

“Thanks, Juno,” Palamedes said. “It would be good if you could tell everyone I’ll be fine, but the rest of the details are up to you. Cam will call you if I die.”

Zeta gave them a smile and a wink, said, “Works for me,” and was on her way.

Palamedes, having secured the cigarette that Juno had passed him for later (she’d even been generous enough to give him a lighter), was fidgeting with his packet of candy, half in his own world. He offered one to Camilla.

“No, thanks. I don’t smoke.”

Palamedes rolled his eyes into the next dimension, but he was smiling. Camilla stood up from her chair and gestured for him to move over. She managed to safely arrange them such that he was half lying on her, half supported by blankets, at which point he adjusted to rest his face as firmly on her breast as possible.

Hospital beds were not on Camilla’s top five list of places to sit, but it would do. She sifted her fingers over the short hair at the back of Palamedes’ head, tracing circles around his occipital bone.

“Mmph,” he mumbled, very tired now, as he often was after spending any amount of time with Juno, and (Camilla assumed) as people often were after they’d been shot. “Love you.”

“I’m married,” said Camilla.

Palamedes sighed into her shirt. “I should have left in that line about the divorce.”

“It’ll keep,” Camilla said, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “You might want it when I make you contact your family regularly so they know you’re alright. Or encourage you to be responsible about your injury in some way. Lots of possibilities.”

“Thanks for that, Cam,” Palamedes said.

“Any time,” said Camilla.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to everyone who helped edit.
> 
> On twitter [@heliocharis](https://twitter.com/heliocharis).


End file.
